


Nicotine Dreams

by Hypoxia



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Post-Canon, Smoking, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29937501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypoxia/pseuds/Hypoxia
Summary: “I just want what’s best for you.”When Shuichi only shudders in response, Kokichi drops one of his arms from its perch on Shuichi’s shoulder and instead opts to take Shuichi’s hand in his. His touch is frigid even against Shuichi’s wind-chilled skin, and he doesn’t hesitate when he brings the other’s knuckles to his mouth. A dying cigarette remains trapped in between his fingers, and Kokichi plucks it away once he’s finished his gentle show of affection.“That’s what I’ve always wanted, ever since that stupid game started. But now, it’s time for you to figure out what you want.”
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	Nicotine Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written as part of my SaiOuma one-shot collection but has been edited to be its own standalone piece.
> 
> Please heed the tags!! Potentially triggering content such as in-depth discussions of suicide and implied alcoholism ahead.

“These things’ll kill you, y’know,” Kokichi says as he pulls out a cigarette from the carton Shuichi offers to him. “Make your lungs fill up with gunk and your breath smell bad.”

Shuichi hums in response before leaning in to light both of their cigarettes, the tiny flame licking the edge of each. From this distance, Shuichi can see the way that Kokichi’s blown pupils reflect the flame of the lighter as he stares up at the taller boy, cigarette dangling lazily from his mouth. The spark disappears from Kokichi’s eyes the minute Shuichi takes his thumb off the flint wheel, but the tiny details of Kokichi’s face remain, highlighted by the city lights leaking up from below. He can still spot the dark circles, the faded bruises, the occasional stray eyelash.

He looks tired.

They’re both leaning over the edge of Shuichi’s balcony, the tiny platform barely wide enough to hold them both as they stand side-by-side, huddled against every breath of wind that seems to tear through the fabric of Shuichi’s old sweatshirt. Even with Kokichi’s shoulder pressed up against him, he feels no warmth emanate from the other boy, and he’s left to rely on the smoke curling its tendrils around his lungs for some semblance of comfort. 

Beside him, Kokichi exhales, eyes never leaving the trail of smoke that slowly pours from his lips. It rises above their heads and dissipates somewhere into the air hanging heavily over the city. 

“We should probably kick this habit eventually.”

“Eventually,” Shuichi replies as he takes another long drag, relishing in the way the nicotine settles into his bloodstream and eases the anxiety that seems to coat his throat like tar. It was a constant sensation, only ever broken by the heavy pull of sleep, cigarettes, or the number of half-empty bottles lazily hidden below his bed.

They settle into a comfortable silence marred only by the occasional deep breath and the sound of traffic seven stories below them. Somewhere in the distance, a police siren wails. Or maybe it’s an ambulance, Shuichi doesn’t know. He can’t bring himself to care. This state of existence is brand new to him, and he’s decided that if he’s going to rot away in his new apartment, then he might as well do it without caring for anyone outside his little bubble. He’s sure he’s done enough damage to the people outside the comfort of his four walls already, and it’s not as if the majority of them haven’t affected him in some way either. Whether it be watching his miserable existence through their television sets or staring at him while he walks down the street to one of his many appointments, his haggard face isn’t an unfamiliar one. It’s one of the reasons why he usually asks someone else to grab his groceries for him.

“Shumai, you’ve gotta already know that this is unhealthy,” Kokichi says, resting his wrist on the metal bar separating himself from the asphalt roughly twenty-five meters below. Shuichi’s eyes follow his gaze down to the ground, and the impulse to jump over the railing overtakes his mind for a split second before it’s shoved away. 

“Well, you mentioned it about five minutes ago.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Kokichi, who could tear Shuichi apart with a single look-over. 

Sometimes, Shuichi became jealous of the other boy’s ability to rip into his chest and expose every single little lie he’d ever told himself. Takes one to know one, Shuichi supposes, but Kokichi’s bluntness still takes him off guard on occasion.

“How long do you plan on doing this?” Kokichi asks, pressing himself closer to Shuichi in order to force the taller boy to turn and face him directly. “How long are you gonna sit here, wallowing in your own self-pity until you either drink yourself to death or someone drags you outside, kicking and screaming?”

Kokichi, who had only spoken truths to him for the past several times he’d come to see him.

“I…”

The words in Shuichi’s head vanish as quickly as the smoke overhead.

“You what?”

“I’m sorry.” It’s the only phrase that comes to mind. “I’m sorry, I just —” 

Wanted to see you, to talk to you. Just wanted to apologize for everything I’d ever done, for every insult I hurled at your stupid face before you had to go and play martyr in some fucked-up game that we all apparently wanted a part in.

Shuichi shuts his eyes until he can see the rainbows behind his eyelids and doesn’t finish the thought, shoulders tensing as he tightens his grip around the railing.

“Well, I’m here, if there’s anything you wanted to talk about,” Kokichi says as if reading his mind. He watches the ashes from Shuichi’s cigarette get swept up by a freezing gust and, despite the violet hue that graced his lips, he stays otherwise visibly unaffected by the cold. “I’ll even give you a penny for your thoughts if you really want it.”

Kokichi, who stood before him, perfectly fine.

“I miss you.”

“Well, duh.” The familiar teasing lilt sneaks itself back into Kokichi’s voice and the thought of the person in front of him being nothing more than a lie, a facade created for the comfort of others, sends an uncomfortable feeling down Shuichi’s spine. “I mean, who wouldn’t?”

“Most people.”

“But you’re not most people, now are you?” 

Shuichi sighs and looks out towards the vast cityscape in front of him. He has to admit, he’s lucky that he’s somehow managed to secure this apartment after coming back to the cesspool that had been the place where he used to live before becoming the ultimate detective. Too much exposure to the past might trigger something, the psychologists had said.

Even without the rats scurrying behind the walls, there were too many painful buried memories that Shuichi didn’t want to risk unearthing — he knew that much after all but vomiting once he stepped into his old bedroom. 

The view from up here ,  although, not the highest in the city or even the block, for that matter, was still beautiful. Sure, Shuichi hated the temptation that came with wide open spaces suspended over empty sidewalks, but he’d learned to appreciate the silver lining in most situations.

“You could jump, you know.”

“They’d stop me if I tried.”

“Oh, you know that’s a lie.”

Ever since he’d been released from the hospital after being deemed stable enough to exist among general society, television station representatives had come knocking on his door every morning. Some came with the pretense of a delivered breakfast, others claimed that they just wanted to stop by and chat with their favorite pretend detective. There were a handful who didn’t bother with pleasantries, and they reminded Shuichi that the value of candor extended beyond life-and-death situations. He knew that they were just coming around to make sure he didn’t finally snap, he wasn’t an idiot. He became well aware of the bugs planted around his apartment after the second or third time someone came banging on his door after a particularly rough night spent on his bathroom floor. 

Of course, none of it was for his own benefit. The station just needed to cover their asses in case someone with close personal connections to Shuichi decided to sue. 

“You’ve already proven to them that you’re not a real threat to yourself, right? How many times have you stood out here talking to me, and how many times has that resulted in some horrible, self-destructive action?” Shuichi considers his words. “Nobody’s busted in here in the middle of the night in literal months. Plus, they’re all pretty shit at their jobs, anyways. I doubt they’d find out until someone reported your body.”

“Didn’t you just say that I was going to die from smoking too many cigarettes?”

“Yeah, but your nasty habits are a result of your budding nicotine addiction, not because you wanted to talk to someone else. There’s a difference.”

“That’s true, I suppose.”

Kokichi hums before taking a final long drag of his cigarette, letting the filter tip slip between his fingers and down onto the street somewhere below.

“If you want to, I won’t stop you.”

“Are you encouraging me to jump?”

“I’m encouraging you to think hard about what you want.” Kokichi’s stare turns as cold as the air whipping around them, and it doesn’t take long for annoyance to begin to seep its way into his tone. “You and I both know what you did, but it’s up to you if you really want to live it.”

“What I did,” Shuichi echoes.

“Jump if you really think you deserve it, but Christ, make up your mind because there’s nothing worse than watching you booze or smoke away every single one of your problems.” 

“I let you die.”

“Technically, you let a whole lot more than just me.” Kokichi smiles sadly, and when he does, it looks like his grin is stretched too wide around his teeth. “Kaede, Kaito, Kiibo. But yes, we all technically died because you couldn’t do enough, if that’s what’s flipping around in your head.”

The sound of the traffic below is deafening. Shuichi feels like his head, still cloudy from the nicotine, is spinning from the amount of blood rushing through his ears. Everything’s loud and impossibly quiet and even swallowing sends a dull pain through his nerves.

“You’re a pathetic, little thing, dear. So indecisive, so useless. What’s the point in staying here if all you’re going to do is live out your life exactly the same way you did before; alone and miserable in an empty studio apartment. No real education, no career, unless you want to count amateur actor, and no close family to claim you as their own. So I’ll ask you again. What do you want?”

“I just want to see you all,” Shuichi croaks, wincing at the sound of his own voice. His throat feels like it’s on fire, like he can’t swallow or else he’d choke on his own spit. “I want to see you again. I want to be able to listen to Clair de Lune without feeling like I should tear apart my eardrums for ever thinking it’s okay to listen to that fucking song. I want to stare up at the stars without feeling like I’m a speck of dust who’ll never matter to anyone again on this planet because I’ve let most of the people I’ve ever cared about die, and I want to be able to look at a television set without feeling like I need to scream.”

“And you have that option.”

“But is that what you died for?” 

Through blurry eyes, he watches Kokichi shrug. 

“How am I supposed to know?” 

Shuichi takes a step back once Kokichi presses his entire body against him, ignoring the way the guardrail digs into his lower back and sends sparks of pain shooting up his spine. Billowy arms wrap around his shoulders, and he’s forced to bend down in order to meet the other boy’s eyes. 

“I just want what’s best for you.” 

When Shuichi only shudders in response, Kokichi drops one of his arms from its perch on Shuichi’s shoulder and instead opts to take Shuichi’s hand in his. His touch is frigid even against Shuichi’s wind-chilled skin, and he doesn’t hesitate when he brings the other’s knuckles to his mouth. A dying cigarette remains trapped in between his fingers, and Kokichi plucks it away once he’s finished his gentle show of affection. 

“That’s what I’ve always wanted, ever since that stupid game started. But now, it’s time for you to figure out what you want.”

Long fingers delicately flip Shuichi’s hand over. They drop the cigarette into his open palm, and with the same grace, forcibly close Shuichi’s fingers around the still-smoldering stub.

The pain is instant, as sharp as the clarity that accompanies his mind the minute the burn begins to sear through his flesh.

And just as quickly, Shuichi is left standing alone on his balcony, staring down at the empty space in front of him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I love exploring the idea of just how much Kokichi's sacrifice impacted Shuichi, and how that would follow him well into his life post-V3. It's all left intentionally open to interpretation, so make of the ending what you will.
> 
> If you liked this, you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/HypoxicDreams) where I like to occasionally post my ramblings.
> 
> Have a nice day and stay safe!


End file.
